Ever since he was young, Johnny loved to dance- he remembered his mum and his sisters making him lead them in slow dances at weddings and nights in, teaching him where to put his hands, the right way to guide someone into a spin or a dip. Those memories were some of the best ones he had, the ones he cherished the most during those dire missions where he didn’t know if he’d get home and get to enjoy a hearty meal prepared by his mum or kiss the top of his younger sister’s heads before teasing them relentlessly like he always did when he got home.

So, when you’d made some one-off comment about how you were a shit dancer since you’d never really learned, Johnny took it upon himself to teach you.

He waited until one of those nights where the TF141 had absolutely nothing to do except relax and take a breather before guiding you to the communal kitchen, making you discard your shoes so you were both dancing in your socks around the linoleum tiles. He guided one of your hands to his shoulder, one of his calloused hands finding its way to the slight curve of your waist, “Just follow my lead, yeah?” He’d spoken quietly into the almost serene air of the kitchen, like if he was too loud, it’d break the moment, “And try not to step on my toes too many times.” He’d teased before guiding you around the room in a slow dance to an unheard melody.

He’d danced with his mum and his sisters what felt like a million times, but this- this felt different somehow, more important in a way that he couldn’t explain. So, he didn’t try to. He just continued guiding you around in the dance, his crystalline blue eyes meeting yours as a smile found its way to his lips.